A Rant a Day Keeps the Daydreams Away
by KHgirl2013
Summary: An average young person with an average start on life. He's average height, average appearing, average in pretty much everything. He is dull, boring, and entirely unassuming. Some would say- Okay, okay, okay. Do you have any idea how hard it is to make yourself sound normal? Here's the real me. Matt, just your friendly jabberman with an affinity for daydreams and rambling in class.
1. Preface

Alright, alright, alright! This is a book for me, myself, and I. I've been told that I am, one, a laid back sloth, two, someone who really needs to expand their facial expression collection, and three, the smartest idiot that they know.

I'd read once, (a very, very long time ago) that writing down…stuff…helps people expand their mind and grow in ways that they can't even imagine. Something like that anyways. If you ask me, most of that stuff is just superstition. But, by either cosmic will or over-exposure to my dear friend's religion obsession, I have decided to do…something about it.

I will pick one word from (generally) the English language, and just spew thoughts on it. Random progressions and thought processes that you, my dear little book (Your name is now Dave. I just decided.), will be privy to.

So! That means I need to introduce myself.

I am Matt. No last name. My name isn't Matt, but for security reasons, I'm not allowed to reveal my real name. Eh, so what? What is a name, _really_? It's just another word, am I right? I can't say how old I am either – for the same reason – because it'd be pretty simple to look up the redheads born on my date of birth if someone knew where to look. As I just said; I have red hair.

Aaaaaaaaand…that's pretty much all I'm willing/allowed to put down.

So, Dave, let's move on, shall we?


	2. Glass

Alright, so this is the first real entry. I asked Mello for a random word, scratch that, random noun and he said glass. However…I am now sporting a new bruise on my head, ironically from his glass of water he threw in no specific direction, for my idiotic question. But that's besides the point, am I right?

So, glass.

Glass is a substance that is highly sought after and used. In ancient times, glass was made from a sand and lye mixture that was super-heated. It is also the only substance known to actually expand underwater. Glass, when heated, is malleable and can be molded into a multitude of fascinating shapes. Most video game console screens are made out of a plastic polymer created to simulate glass.

Probably a good idea too. My games end up against the wall more times than not. If the screens were glass they'd have shattered a looooooooong time ago. Give my thanks to those inventors.

Even though the screens have shattered anyways.

Sigh.

Glass, the most common use concepted is for a window pane. A smooth sheet of hard material blocking the wind from our fragile bodies. Can I get a cheer here? No more cold!

Unless, of course, the brittle material is hit by a rock or something.

So, glass…

Glass is used as a barrier, a shield if you will, against elements and people alike. It's in days like this that shields are very necessary. People have started dying randomly, and without cause, really.

One moment someone is breathing in the stale, putrid air of a jail cell, waiting for something that they know is inevitable – their death. They know it. Their family knows it. The executioner knows it. Everyone knows that they are going to die someday. The sickening tightening of their chest begins as they ponder what death really means. They are scared; it's something that no one has lived to tell the tale of. So, they decide to cast these thoughts away. Why think about something that's not going to go away?

But, the tightening doesn't stop.

Their chest keeps on tightening. Tighter, tighter, tighter…

The pain just keeps climbing. Up, up, up, higher, and higher until it becomes nearly unbearable. It's only then that their heartbeats become erratic and fast. The pain just keeps spiraling. They realize that they have even less time than they had thought before.

They are dying.

They look desperately to a dark, shinning sheet mounted on the wall as they take one last breath before they fall to the ground in rapid convulsions.

The viewers from the other side of the glass have mixed reactions. On one hand, the person was already going to die, but on the other, the person died at the hand of a growing mass-murderer known to the public as Kira. The people behind the glass realize that they just witnessed something that not even their reinforced, one-sided glass can shield them from…


	3. Love

I also just realized that my last entry ended at a rather dark note. I'll try to keep this one light so I don't overload you with completely negative emotions. Capiche?

So, Watari decided that it is a good idea to just keep going with this (I'm almost afraid to ask how he found out that I started this.) and since I've already asked Mello for a word, and his temper is legendary…

I decided to play it safe.

I asked Linda.

And of course, in her completely distracted fashion, she looked up from her sketchbook with her blond pigtails splaying out because of the suddenness of the jerk. She took a little bit of time to think, tapping her pencil on her mouth. "Any word?" She'd said. I told her that, yes, any word works. It was rather hard not to tell her to just get on with it after the second or third minute of waiting.

"Love."

Yep, she told me to write about love. How _romantic_ of her to suggest it.

Sure, I could've just come up with a word all by my lonesome self, but considering that my one redeeming quality is my ability to just go with the flow…aside from that, have you ever tried to pull just _one_ word from a dictionary? It's pretty dog gone hard.

Love. Often defined as a strong feeling of affection, a strong feeling of sexual attraction (But seriously, isn't that just lust?), a term for an affectionate greeting, a great interest and pleasure in something, to like or enjoy very much, etcetera.

Love is, simply put…

Confusing.

Have you ever heard of a guy and girl who are in love that _weren't_ confused? Nope, neither have I. I've heard of guy and guy couples being confused, a girl and girl couple, a transgender and sapiosexual couple (I like this pairing…it'd be pretty interesting, no?), a guy and girl couple, think of pretty much any couple you've ever heard of and I can personally guarantee that love confused them at some point.

Now, I can't speak from personal experience in terms of 'romantic' love, but platonic and familial? Sure. Another one of my little 'issues' that I failed to mention in the preface is my 'exhaustive' propensity to form bonds. Too fast and too many, they say.

I can't help but feel that they just need a good hug.

Not that certain unspeakables would enjoy that, but it's worth thinking about, eh?

Love is often used as synonymous with lust, attraction, affection, care…but love is also viewed as a weakness, as something that makes those who feel it weaker. In fact, I feel a quotation coming on.

"Love is a grave mental disease."

This lovely insight was given to mankind by someone who not only had a dismal view on humanity, but who also had the unfortunate luck to be old, Greek, and awful-looking in a toga.

Oh, and pretty famous as a philosopher.

His name was Aristotle.

Dave, if we are to believe Ari (Heh, 'Ari' means both 'eagle' and 'lion' in a certain Scandinavian language…) over there, then we'd also be forced to believe that the world is flat and there are large human beings with grudges that level continents watching and controlling us from above the clouds.

I'm gonna say…Nah.

I don't think that love is a mental illness. Love is something that we are…conditioned into. We love as a form of pushing our attachment into something that we can understand. Love means seeing the best in someone, seeing their point of view and understanding them. It's not something that can really be described in one sentence. It's probably one of the biggest emotions a human can feel. Rivaled only by hate and self-pity.

"Oh, Peter, I'm feeling something…something wonderful. I couldn't feel it before because I was never big enough to."

This quotation is courtesy of Tinkerbell from 'Pan' the movie. She's describing that when she was small, a pixie, she never was able to fathom the feeling of love. But, when she grew into human size, she could feel it.

Love…is an emotion that ties people together.

It is also something that the world needs more of.


	4. Quaderno

Today's word is 'quaderno', an Italian noun meaning – in essence – notebook.

Don't give me that look, Dave, I told you that the words would be _mostly_ from the English language. I never said that they all would.

I personally find that awesome. The notebook thing, not my hair-splitting. I mean, I'm writing this in a notebook right at this very moment. I also didn't even have to go to another person to pick this word out.

Today, I was sent on a sort of fieldtrip to Italy. I guess it's kind of like a fieldtrip in the sense that I got to see different bits of the country and was forced to take notes on literally everything.

Oh, and did I mention? Our tour was held entirely in Italian. The whole thing. I was expected to respond in kind. Perfect grammar, perfect pronunciation. Basically perfect everything. While I didn't make a mistake, one of the guys next to me did. He messed up on his il vs lo articles. It was really hard not to wince when he said 'il spazzolino' instead of 'lo spazzolino', Although…why he said toothbrush was beyond me.

Moving on.

We were often told to write things in our 'quaderni' (Plural for 'quaderno') along the way. The stuff we were told to write isn't very important. It was just little stuff: this arch was built by this person at this year for this reason to celebrate this battle against this army. Terribly boring.

But. It made me wonder why, exactly, do people write things down? In notebooks or otherwise.

The first, and most obvious reason, is to remember things.

Most human beings benefit from using a writing utensil to transfer what is in their mind through their arm onto a piece of paper. It's supposed to 'ensure maximum retention' because when you use two or more systems, blah, blah, blah blah, blah, blah blah blegh.

I guess they didn't know that some people are auditory learners or have identic memories.

I think that the reason people write in notebooks is because it makes things, aka, thoughts, easier to sort and keep in a semblance of order. Not to say my thoughts are in order ever of the time…I tend to just follow my train of thought as it takes me up, down, inside out, and around double and triple loop-de-loops. Probably the occasional corkscrew and direction reverse should be accounted for also.

Now, in no way am I implying that brain/thoughts/manner of going about things are anything that would qualify as normal. I will be the first to admit that I am not normal; I will, of course, be followed by a long line of people screaming that I am a freak of nature even as freaks of nature go. No biggie, I'm just attempting to normalize myself for you, Dave. The probability of you being an average…notebook…is much higher than you being one of…a less average type of notebook.

Actually, I know for a fact that you are an average notebook.

I only paid about two pound for you, that's approximately three American dollars, or two and a half Euro. So, yeah. See how I know that Dave is an average notebook? I paid for an 'average' notebook.

You get what you pay for, eh?

Yep. It's true, even with ye ole notebook.

I'm thinking I got off topic waaaaaaaaaay too much. That was…probably a good reason for the future for me to label as 'Why Matt shouldn't pick his own topics.' Maybe next time I should write the various rules for Matt, aka, moi.

Now, before this gets more awkward…

Bye!

…

…

…

…Why are you still here…?

…

…Dave…

…

…

…Leave.

…Now.

…

…

…I'm leaving…

…

…Bye.


	5. Murder

Some say that death is simply a natural part of life, and, to a degree, I'd agree. Heh heh. De-gree, I'da-gree. That's kinda funny. Okay, just ignore me, I'm going through a phase.

Watari decided that it was time to start training us to 'defend' ourselves. Meaning, train to fire a gun lethally with precision. Not that cool anymore, right? We'll just say that today was not my best day.

Not that I wasn't good, nah, I'm pretty good at whatever I do, it's just…they expect us to be able, and willing to kill someone at any turn. That, and Mello seemed really keen on the idea. I knew he had anger issues, but to have so many that you want to take them out with physical violence (whether designed to kill or injure) requires some serious determination to get that anger out.

That or mental issues.

When it comes to Mello, either could be true. (It's really hard to write while trying to shrug, don't try it.)

So, back to the topic of the day – murder. Is it right to kill another human being? Is there ever a justification that will make you feel like what you did is okay?

I'm not quite sure what to think. Now, Dave, I realize that you've probably gone into a panic attack because Matt just ran out of snappy, humorous comebacks to his own questions. But it's true.

Really.

I swear.

Mostly.

Okay, in all seriousness, what are the answers to my questions?

Now, I also realize that they are subjective questions. While one person might argue that it's fine to kill if they are attacking you, others are sure to say that any form of killing is morally wrong – hence, the vegans and vegetarians in this world.

Kidding.

Sorry if you happen to be one of the food virgins, Dave, but I really don't care right now.

So, onward.

This brings be back to morals. They are pesky little things that most people share. Some would even go so far as to define having morals as a basic trait of humanity. Some people argue that in order to go after someone else with intent to harm you must've lost your morals and, thus, are no longer human.

That's a bunch of hypocritical jabber-josh.

The people who say that are the ones who support the death penalty, but don't want to have guilty concusses. They say that because murderers are no longer human, and murder is defined as the unlawful killing of a human being with malicious intent. Notice how that protects the people who eliminate those who are considered murderers from being considered a murderer.

Twisted, am I right?

Not that there is anything wrong with the death penalty, I'm never going to be the one to say that, I'm just saying that the way people go about it matters too.

I believe in the kinda world where you reap what you sow. If you sow seeds of discontent, malintent, and dishonesty; then you will have those ten, or a hundred fold in your life. Same for the opposite. Everything a person does has a consequence. Sometimes that consequence falls on them, and sometimes it falls on someone else.

"Every action has an equal, and opposite, reaction."

That lovely quotation is from an English lord that no one thought would live to three weeks old, and yet, he created a whole new type of mathematics and did not succumb to peer pressure or any real challenge he faced. Sir Isaac Newton has always been one of my role models for those reasons.

So. Is it right to kill someone?

I don't have the answer right now, and honestly I'm more confused now than when I started, but I'll come to a conclusion eventually. I'll let you know when I do. Until then, stay tuned my dear friend, Dave.


	6. Oh, the Promised Rules

I said I was going to do this a while ago but ended up not. Whoops. Here are the rules that Matt must follow. Written by Matt and for Matt.

1\. I must never attempt to sound smarter than I am. As that ends up making me sound not only stupid, but also extremely egoistical.

2\. I must never discuss sexuality. I am far too passionate on that subject and it will invariably involve Near and Mello.

3\. I must remind myself – at least three times a day – that the world does not revolve around me. (L said it was a good idea for Mello and whatever L says, Mello makes us all do. Ugh.)

4\. I must not come up with my own topics. Alternatively, I must not allow myself too many creative liberties.

5\. I must not draw polka dots on our new guns. They are not clown toys.

6\. Video games must be restricted to less than ten hours of the day.

7\. I am not allowed to bring a computer to class – even if the ones provided are crappy and very, very, very slow.

8\. Unless I am given express permission, I must not sneak out at night.

9\. There must be at least one complete sentence to answer all school questions. One-word answers, while impressive, are not to be tolerated.

10\. I must always listen to L. L is love. L is li – Okay, no. I'm not going to go that far. L is law. Let's just keep it at that.

Aaaaaand that's all I have for today. I might do another set of rules later, but that's all for now…

…

…

…Just wait, I'll break them all in a month.


	7. Baseball

Hello, Dave! I just had a wonderful (not mine) idea!

My next topic is Baseball.

It was kinda suggested by Oliver when he suggested that Baseball should be the game we played during the recess/PE time. So, when we all went out to play I noticed something.

In Baseball there are seven players on the field who are kinda like the 'defense' and up to four who are on the 'offense.' The goal of the pitcher is to give the batter a legal ball, but at the same time prevent them from hitting it. The goal of the batter is to hit the good balls and let the other pass right on by. The infielders are kinda like the first line of defense. They try to get the ball fast and throw it to first base. (Heh, first base…) The outfielders are the ones who try to get the fly balls that go waaaaaaaaaay over the infielders' heads.

And that, Dave, is baseball in a nutshell.

Now, now, don't give me that face. My big discovery of the day wasn't something so benign as how baseball works. No, it was more along the lines of how baseball can be equated to life itself.

Strange thought, amiright?

But seriously, think about it.

You are the batter – your goal is to get your dreams to be a reality. The dreams of yours are the ball. If you get a homerun, then your dream succeeded instantly. Bam! Look at it go…! Every run scored is that runner's dream, a success. Everyone else in your life is pretty much trying to stop those dreams from becoming realized.

The pitcher is that person who gives you false hope. He (or she) tells you that you are able to do whatever you want if you put your mind to it, but proceeds to dangle it right out of your grasp and leaves you chomping at the bit.

The infielders are those close to you – family, friends, coworkers, etcetera – who don't appreciate your talent, or are jealous of you. Whenever you shoot an idea at them they do their best to snatch it out of the air before you can really do anything with it. "You thought you were gonna be an astrophysicist? Ha! That's not gonna happen, you are terrible at math!" They might say. What they don't realize is that you love space enough that you would learn to be good at math.

You see, this is something that society has gone completely bonkers on. They decide that everyone can only do one thing – what others think that they are good at. Yeah, so…that's probably a major failure on people's parts.

The outfielders are those who are watching from afar. They don't have a direct influence on your life, and not only pretend they are, but all they try to do is wiggle their way under your skin. Irritating is their middle name, really.

The crowd, eh, they're the people who don't even know you. They could be cheering for you, or against you – for you one moment, against the next – or visa versa. They are worse than reeds in the wind, sway, sway, sway, swayswayswaysway…They can't tell which way is right, so they go with all sides in an attempt to end on the right side.

They are bastards who are not worth the cost of the food they devour. Conniving, disloyal, schemers who only care about whether or not they come out on top.

Hah!

Tell that to the guy who gets pegged with that home run ball!

…

…Ahem…

…

Okay, so, now that that is pretty much over, (I kinda forgot my point, to be completely honest) I just wanna say that I hate sports – to the point of me preferring a verbal lashing or physical beating to running for the purpose of a 'pointless' game.

I think my point was that I wanted to share my aimless ramblings that kept me mostly focused in the outfield today, Dave.

Yeah, that's probably what it was. That was the point of this little notebook, amiright?

Bah, who am I kidding! Of course it was!

'Til next time.

(Note: Don't salute while trying to write – it ends badly, much like shrugging.)

…

 **Hey all, it is your friendly authoress here. How are you guys doing?**

 **Personally, I feel very proud of myself for not putting in an author's note until now, but…you guys aren't really keeping score, are you?**

 **Anyways, I had a point.**

 **What do you, my readers, think of Matt's ranting? Do you enjoy it? Do you have a topic for me? I would actually appreciate a topic very much, so if you have one, please drop it off in a little review!**

 **Thanks!**


	8. Pain

Let's talk about pain, let's talk about pain, baaaaaby. Let's talk about pain!

Dave, please ignore my hysterical laughter right now. I'm on drugs. I DO understand that those aren't the original lyrics, but I couldn't resist! Ha!

As you could probably guess, today's topic is pain.

Pain is defined as an 'unpleasant feeling' or something like that – I am currently too lazy to try and maneuver my broken leg out of bed to get the dictionary and the net is down….so…that's the best you are gonna get. The only reason I even have my laptop and my notebook right now is because Mello feels guilty enough to grab it for me.

Oh, and by drugs, I meant prescription meds. They make me feel loopy most of the time.

My rant on pain can wait, here is the story of what happened. Cause, without the story, it will seem very out of the blue.

So, someone, referred to from here on out as AA (Albino Asshole, in the words of my friend), 'decided' to score better than Mello on a test – again. Except, this time, AA beat Mels in a race. As in, a gun shot in the air, you start behind this line and go to that line as if you opened the nine circles of hell and all the creatures are pouring out after you.

Suffice to Mello wasn't happy.

Now Dave, you're probably wondering how this relates in the slightest to pain, let alone my broken leg. I'll tell you.

AA won and Mello was Pissed. With a capital 'P'. No one beats him at sports, it is kinda a rule. Mello dominates at sports. This story really starts when my dearly affectionate friend stood up to his full height of five foot four inches, 164 and a half centimeters, and started screaming about how AA cheated in a race. Mello's fists were balled at his sides and even from my position on the other end of the field I could see the spit flying.

"I have not cheated. Perhaps Mello underestimated me because I have not shown an affinity for running in previous attempts." AA said, doing that weird curling thing with his hair.

Wrong thing to say buddy, wrong thing.

(Note: Never, EVER shift the blame to an angry Mello – you might as well slap a hungry grizzly with the salmon you just took from him.)

And, much like that grizzly bear, Mello reacted in violence. With a painful sounding smack, AA was on the floor, his head jerking to the left. In less than two seconds, my dear blond friend was on the ground punching the poor guy's face in.

And here comes my idiotic mistake.

Before I even really knew what I was doing, I was sprinting across the field to the fight. Honestly, now that I think back on it, I think that this was the first time I've run full out. Huh.

Anyways, I was running towards them at full speed. Mello had AA on the ground. Normally I'd probably make a remark about how Mels was straddling the guy, but this wasn't the time. With each punch, blond hair swayed one way or the other. The strangest thing was that AA hadn't retaliated – not even once. He was closing his eyes, and was a little rigid, but other than that he hadn't done a thing to protect himself.

This, of course, brought me skidding to a stop in confusion.

Like, seriously. Why?

The guy was probably in tremendous pain – heck – I could already see bruises forming.

I didn't have long to think about it though because I'd apparently skidded too close for the mauler's liking. He kicked out backwards.

Now, the doc told me that under normal circumstances, my leg probably wouldn't have broken, probably been bruised at the bone and all, but not broken. Yeah, they didn't know just how strong Mello kicks.

I remember buckling to the ground and pulling my knee up to my chest. I remember it feeling off and there being a shooting pain in my shin and calf. I remember hearing the sickening crack and my own cry of shock mingle with it. I remember Mello's head snapping around and his wide blue eyes as realization dawned on him

But I also remember the sheer emptiness in AA's eyes when he turned to look at the commotion.

He looked like he'd died and come back to life – only, his soul was missing this time around.

Now of course, after a few choice words from Mello and promises to exact revenge on AA, he picked me up (Mello is freakishly strong, I'm bigger than he is!) and jogged back to the nurse's area.

I must've passed out or something cause the next thing I really remember is the nurse calling my name repeatedly and my leg in a cast of sorts. So…yeah. That's what I think anyways. Mello refuses to talk about it, he just mutters and his face turns red.

I think he dropped me or something.

Anyways, that's how I ended up with bed rest for a week, minimal homework, and a guilty Mello 'serving' me as only he could.

I think that I'm getting tired now. My eyes are kinda drooping, (I wrote 'my ear are kinda droping' first time around. Whoops.) and I'm starting to do waaaaaaaaaay to many mistakes – I'm too lazy to just go back and correct them, obviously.

Plus, I'm writing in pen now, soooooooo…

…I shall do my first split rant! Next time will be the real rant on pain, this one's just history/backstory on it, I guess.

I'll pick this back up later then, Dave.

(Yawning while writing works – I can repeat that one.)


	9. Snoop (mini entry 1)

…

…

Watari is a snoop. Seriously.

That is my only explanation.

We were able to do the monthly video chat/question session for the successors and, as usual, L was too busy to attend. So that just left Watari. Again. He 'congratulated' me for being able to throw myself into the fray of a fight to defend what was right.

…say what…?

That wasn't even going through my mind at the time whatsoever! Aaaaaand, he made an ever so vague reference to you! He said,

"I hope you know that he would be proud of you for your actions." A few sentences later he clearly referenced a 'Dave' that he used to know…

Whyyyyyyyyy?

He's not even here anymore and he somehow manages to find a non-electronic book that literally looks like the diary of a teenage girl whining about how unfair her life is!?

…

…Wait…

…let me rephrase that.

He manages to find an unassuming notebook that looks like it belongs to the super-awesomeness that goes by the name of Matt and hides itself in his scarecrow-like form.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

Now, I just wanted to say that Watari is a snoop, and I hope that he reads this and knows that I am not appreciating his snooping.

By the way, I just stuck my tongue out at you.

So there.


	10. Pain, continued

This pain is your pain. This pain is my pain. Everywhere I look, I see your pain…

…

…That one didn't end up like the last one in terms of 'take-song-lyrics-and-replace-pain-with-one-of-the-words' as the last one. I feel slightly disappointed now.

That was a letdown. Ugh.

So, in the previous rant/backstory was just that – backstory. In that one I came to the conclusion that there are three main types of pain: physical, mental, and emotional.

Pain is often used as a way to lower defenses, break down seemingly untouchable persons, and many other like things.

And really, each of the three of us displayed a different kind, actually.

Wanna know who was which?

Okay, I was obviously physical pain. I mean, if I forget to take the meds then I literally can't function. Shattered tibia, fractured fibula, and a dislocated patella. Yeah, if that isn't physical pain, then what is? You know, aside from actual, intentional torture. Physical pain is raw, yet contained by what the mind can withstand. So, it is probably the least effective strategy to break someone. After all, the body has its limits and it is all something that some curious people will always fine a limit for.

AA was mental pain. It is a sort of coping mechanism for physical pain, in my opinion. Mental pain is like a transfer of what their body is feeling and compartmentalizing it. But it works like stuffing too much tissue paper in a little box. It will compress a whole lot better than sticks and stones, but eventually there will be too much and it'll explode. Another bonus to AA's strategy of mental pain and boxing it all up is that it will only come out in the same way that it came – slowly and without much pressure.

Kinda works in the most neutral way possible.

And Mello?

Mello is the rawest form of pain: Emotional.

He bases everything off of what he feels and how other people interact with him. He is a bit like soda in bottle. Everything is all fine and dandy until someone drops a Mentos in the mix. He feels everything in its basest form – and he doesn't know how to handle it.

It comes out in physical ways: words, body language, and violence. He isn't a loose cannon, no, I think that that would be similar to physical pain because you never know when or where they are going to buckle, but he is like an aimed cannon with a damp fuse – it could go off now, it could go off in five minutes, it could go off never.

But, the important part is that you know that there is always a potential for an explosion.

Pain starts as physical or emotional in most cases, sometimes they go hand in hand. Pain works like a warning system. It tells someone when something is wrong or has gone awry.

Aaaaaand owie…

I just jostled my leg at the end of the medicine's working hours. Yeouch!

That brings an end to this one, say goodbye, Dave!

(Goodbye!)

…

 **Okay, so I was thinking that eventually I might do a rant book for the successors.**

 **Each of them would obviously have their own style of writing – Near's would be more like a textbook with small flairs of misunderstand and little things like that, Mello's would probably be the angstiest of the bunch, and well, this is Matt's.**

 **Any opinions on that?**


	11. Hero

So, the word of the day is hero! Why?

Umm…mostly because I finished reading a Superman comic, but that's not important! I most definitely don't wish that I was Lex Luthor sometimes. Nope. Definitely not.

Never…

Shush, Dave! Don't tell all my secrets. A guy's gotta have some, right?

Ahem.

Hero. What is the first word that comes to mind when you hear the word hero? What is the image that pops into your head at first thought?

For most people, the first words would be saviour, cool, strong, just, or brave. The image is generally that of a tall muscular man with chiseled features and a smoking hot girl hanging off his arm. Or, if you have a female hero in mind, it is generally a tall, short haired woman with large boobs who isn't afraid to show 'em off. She is generally alone in an attempt to prove that she 'doesn't need a man'.

A loud buzzer sounds in the distance.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrchhhhhh…!

You have won the WRONG answer!

Notice what is wrong about the 'common' conception of a hero?

I'll wait.

…

…

…

Notice how they are purposefully portrayed as super attractive, brave people who try their hardest to be seen as badass? Hah! How many people fit that description?

Not many, I'll tell you that. Under normal circumstances, I'd say Mello might fit it, but I think that I might be mad at him. He ain't gettin' no compliments from me!

No, a hero is a person is someone who helps others.

They are people who are self-sacrificing idiots who don't know when to say when. They forget their limits and their own pain if it means that others live. Take Capitan America, for example.

He is a really good median between the conceived hero, and the real hero.

Capitan America is a tall, blond, blue-eyed, completely attractive person, but he also has the values: selfless, self-sacrificing, interested in the wellbeing of others – typical boy scout material, actually.

He frequently says in the comics that he would give his life for the safety of the world.

A real life hero could be a person who decides to put their reputation on the line to support people they believe in, a lawyer who only defends the clients he believes are innocent, or the soldier who takes a bullet for his partner.

Not some stupid detective who hides behind a letter in big fancy script.

Hiding, no matter how pragmatic it may seem, is a form of cowardice. If you want someone to view you as a hero, as someone worth believing in, then you don't hide. You don't interact with your 'pawns' from behind a screen. You don't play with their lives like they are spare pennies.

This proves cowardice, fear, and anti-social behaviours.

And we all know what that tends to signify in psychology.

Yes, Dave, I am calling L a coward in my book – knowing perfectly well that Watari is reading. He can show this to L for all I care! People tend to think that they are right until someone up and tells them that they are wrong. No one has really done that to L, the hero of many.

Sometimes, putting yourself on the pedestal labeled 'hero' is the least effective way to go about things.

If L really wanted to solve cases to help people he'd do so publicly, showing people that he is human too, and yet is completely confident in what he believes.

An excellent example of what I'm talking about is World War II Denmark's King Christian. When the country was under German Nazi occupation, many of the Danes wanted to hide, or fight back. Their King, Christian, did not think that this was the right way to go about this. I think that he was taking into account that, in retrospect, the occupation of Denmark was very mild when compared to the occupation of Poland. He didn't want to incite more wrath on his people, so, he did the best that he could.

King Christian rode his horse every day in the middle of Copenhagen's largest streets – in full view of the German guards. He would do this day, after day, after day, after day. When some of his watching citizens were asked why he rode alone, without body guards, they would reply,

"All of Denmark is his bodyguard."

You see, this is an example of a person who is doing what he thinks is right in any way that he can. He isn't showing fear.

He is showing trust.

Think about that next time you pretend to be someone's hero.

…

 **This topic was suggested by Silver-'-Doe290, I hope that you enjoyed Matt's 'little' rant on it!**

 **If you have a topic for me, do not hesitate to suggest it!**


	12. Anger

One of the most famous quotes that I can think of that pertains to anger is from the Christian Bible.

"In your anger, do not sin."

This book describes sin as anything that is contrary to what God, the supreme being if you will, says is wrong. Actually, most of this sin lines up with the average moral compass: Stealing, lying, cheating, killing, sexual relations outside of marriage, envy, and many more.

Human beings instinctively know that this type of stuff is wrong, or causes guilt, right?

So, Anger.

Anger in it of itself is not considered a sin, but call easily lead to all of it. If someone is angry with someone they can go into a blind rage and strangle that person to death. This is murder. Someone could feel angry at someone else and get their vengeance by stealing their favorite toy, or simply destroying it. This is envy, stealing, and destroying of property.

Now, I'm not saying that everything in the Bible is true, but it's just…it seems to fit very well to me.

Anger is synonymous with rage. Rage is an emotion that is blinding.

When you say to someone, "They just make me so angry." You are already wrong.

No one can 'make' someone else be angry. Anger is a choice, a reaction, that you are completely in control of. If you don't want to be angry, then don't.

I probably make it sound so simple right now, but once you realize that you, and not someone else, is in charge of your emotions, then it is like lifting the veil from in front of your eyes. Wiping the windshield with the wipers in a heavy rainfall.

If I told you that right now, I'm probably 'causing' you to feel something, what would you say? Probably something about how I am contradicting myself, right?

No.

The best I can do is incite the beginnings of emotions. I can say something that I believe will affect you. Like, say that you were an abuse victim or something. If I allude to someone else being in a similar situation, chances are that it will remind you of your situation and what you felt about it. Anger, sympathy, fear…

Then, I could manipulate your emotions, but I can never cause them.

Remember that next time you get angry, you idiot.

…

…

…I forgot I was using pen again.

I really need to start using pencil. 'Cause this rant was supposed to be about anger and not emotions in general or really direct this to Mello.

I have come to the conclusion that I actually do feel some anger at him for the 'leg incident' as it is now dubbed…

…Idiot…


	13. Holy! (mini entry 2)

Hooooooolllllly horse poop.

Dave, Dave, Dave! Guess what I just found out? Not gonna guess? That's okay, I'll just tell you anyways.

L read my book.

…

Apparently.

That or he just realized that he was being an idiot and can't solve the Kira case from behind a screen.

He actually decided to interact with the police force IN PHYSICAL FORM!

…It just occurred to me that I shouldn't know that…poop…

…

…

Weeeeeeeeeell, I guess I just got caught hacking into hotel security. Heh-heh…Hi, I'm Matt. Your friendly neighborhood hacker who will get roasted in a few days because he made the mistake of caring for this book too much to burn a page. And because he forgot to write in pencil.

Again.

Ugh.


	14. Slave

First off, I am finally writing in pencil! Whoop!

It feels really strange. I just remembered why I hated pencil again – the stupid lead won't stay sharp. AT ALL. Ack.

Looks like I will have to suffer through my lead issues however, as I have some stuff to say and I kinda promised myself that I'd write in pencil next time after the 'L incident.' I will not refer to it as anything other than that though. Never, ever.

Although, in light of Mello screaming and cursing at said hunching detective for – and I quote – "- being such a big fuckin' idiot! He didn't need to go and, and, and…reveal himself to those bastards! Now every fucking soul who doesn't have their heads stuck in their asses will know where he is!"

And so on.

But, you know, in Polish. Mello rants in Polish when he's really…um… _excited_ about something. I guess it's the same reason I tend to mix my languages up when tired, but I digress.

Oh! Mello also speaks Polish when shit-faced drunk!

…The rum and whiskey filled chocolate incident must never be repeated…especially not with vodka like Near suggested shorty after.

Seriously, there are times I think that kid is plotting all of our demises.

…Really, it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest.

Anyways! I got sidetracked. The topic today is slave – as in: slave to what you believe in, slave to the master, slave to your desires, slave to your lover…

If, of course, you're into that shit.

Either way, being a slave to something implies that you no longer are able/allowed to act according to your every whim. Something (or someone) prohibits that. Being a slave means that your free will is compromised.

I'm pretty sure that very, very, very few people can say that they are a truly free (wo)man. If they say that then they are probably lying. Everyone has a master of some sort.

Take mine for example. While I am not exactly slave to my video games, my couch, or my warm, blanket-covered, bed. While I'm not a slave to this physical things, they are symptoms that my 'master' causes.

My master is laziness.

Pure and simple. I am a slave to the overwhelming desire to just sit back and relax and do a whoooooole lot o' nada. So, you see that a master is not generally a physical being.

Let's go through the people that I know, okay? I'll shed some light on their masters based on my observation. Disclaimer: I am ONLY working off of my personal findings, NOTHING ILLEGAL!

…I may be a tiny bit paranoid now…

Mello's master is just his emotions in general. I could say anger, but really it's just his emotions in general. He is so…controlled by them. I personally find it terribly hard to think that emotions have that big of a control over him, but it makes him stronger – if not more volatile – because of them. Everything he does is dictated by them.

Near? (Aka AA, Albino Asshole) I'm no longer completely freaked out by his near emotionlessness or mad at him for something stupid – not going into details, don't ask, Dave – so, I'm just gonna refer to him by his name now. No hard feelings from me now. I'm not completely sure what his master is yet, but considering he is predictable to a certain degree…I'm positive he has one. I'm pretty sure ff

L's master is his curiosity. He literally cannot concentrate on anything else once something has peaked his interest, it is all that he can focus on. Nothing else is near as satisfying to him as solving that case, that obsession. I don't have much more to say on this actually. Huh.

Now, B. That, Dave, is an interesting story.

I'd say that he is the only person I know of who was not a slave. Not willingly, not unwillingly either. He was completely free from expectations, or any other nonsensical things that he didn't have full control of…He was never afraid to do anything. Murder, theft, rape, anything that he deemed necessary or, more often, just for fun. I know that I really shouldn't say anything about this…but I really admire him.

I can only imagine that he's going to die soon, thanks to Kira and his mass murder/serial killing spree. I just wish I got to talk to him one more time…

Y'know, people often think that it was Mello who was close to him; not so. They were too similar, too…destructive together. Apparently, Backup thought that I reminded him of some girl he grew up with. 'Carefree and Innocent' he said. I didn't like that too much so I socked him in the nose.

Well, little five-year-old me tried to anyways. I don't even think I got up to his chest. Now that I think back on it, I would have laughed at me too.

Imagine, a tiny, sickly little boy jumping up and down in a pretty good imitation of Mario's little jump trying to reach this guy's face. He was even bending over too. I missed him completely even then.

Ha!

He ruffled my hair – didn't like that much either – and said something I'll never forget.

"You'll go far, little Mail, you'll go far."

It later struck me that this was strange for two big reasons. One, It was completely out of character for the normally violent, angry teen. And two, he knew my name. A name that I hadn't used for, well, literally ever. He even pronounced it correctly.

I'd always thought him to be strange, but at least he hadn't killed anyone yet, that came later.

Off topic again.

Anyways, it is my eventual goal to break free, and all that. That's the real point of this thing, but given that it is a rant, I think that I am justified in my distraction. Besides! You got to learn more about me and all.

Bye-bye!

...

 **Sorry for the wait, all. I hope that you can forgive me and possibly find it in your heart to leave a review? I always love to hear from my readers!**

 **Again, if you have any requests, do not hesitate to ask!**


	15. Failure

Everyone who has a decent handle on their life has failed at something at least once. It's a fact – no exceptions. It could be something simple like, failing to get to class on time, coloring outside of the lines, or tripping on a sidewalk. Other times, it can be something huge.

Missing a due-date for something that effects your whole life, failing to word something properly and missing a scholarship, missing a friend's attempt to apologize and rubbing it in their face instead…

…running into a building to save someone but failing to save them before it collapses…

Today, I've had a sobering realization.

You can't save everyone.

Whammy's was on fire today. The building that is. Most of the kids were out on a fieldtrip, but when we came back I could see the flames from kilometers away. You'd think that at some point disaster would realize that I've had enough. I've had enough heartache. Enough putrid dreams. Enough actions pulling my strings.

I'm a sympathetic person.

When they finally stopped the bus, I overheard Linda and Olive saying something about how the little kids were left inside on the trip. Little. Kids. In. A. Fire.

Alone.

Much like the time when Mello attacked Near, I was running before I knew what I was doing. I was half a kilometer away when the heat really started to hit. I could hear someone yelling at me to stop, but it was less of a yell and more of the dull sound when your headphones are turned on too low. All I could think about was that these kids – Veil, Barnaby, Phoebe, West, Jack, Jill, Hearth, Newt, Twist – were all alone.

Told you I formed attachments too fast and that it can be highly detrimental.

Later I realized how lucky I was that the door was unlocked. I slammed into it, screaming out the kid's names while holding my scarf over my nose and mouth. Never before had I been so thankful for my goggles or Roger's pestering. I could hear their coughs coming from upstairs. Jack and Jill – the twins – were yelling for me.

When I flew up the stairs, they started to scream.

I could hear them. Their screams. It was all I could hear now. Before I heard the crackling of wood, the whoosh of whatever wind could get in through the shattered windows, everything else. I yelled out again and told them I was coming.

They kept screaming.

At the third flight of stairs, they stopped. There was a crashing sound and the flames flew up all around their room. When I looked in, at first I couldn't see anything. Nothing but orange flames and cinders from the ceiling. Then I saw it. I will never forget the sight of two little hands clasped together peeping out from under the wooden beam.

Jill's bracelet had shattered, but her brother held onto her tiny hand with all he had as they died.

Together.

I don't remember too much after that. I think that I found Twist and Hearth in the next room, crying their heads off. Veil and West ran by shortly after. Veil was wearing that stupid gas mask that she always carried around, carrying West a bit as he limped. I guess the gasmask saved her life. Hers and West's.

I remember running down the stairs with the kids – all under seven – as fast as their little legs would carry them. Twist fell. Hearth screamed. Veil and West continued out. I jumped back over the stairs and grabbed Twist. He was much lighter than what I thought he'd be…that, or I was stronger than I thought.

Or I was so scared that the adrenaline gave me super strength…

Either way, my next clear memory is having to squint from under my half-filled goggles in the evening light carrying Twist in one arm over my shoulder while holding West's hand. The girls were sprinting out as fast as possible in front of us. The wind felt so good on my face. My scarf was gone. I don't remember how I lost it. The first clear sound was Mello yelling,

"Pieprzony idioto! Mogłeś umarł!"

Now, I don't know Polish too well, but I do know he said 'Fucking idiot!' as the first part. I mean, he tends to only use curse words and insults anyways. I'm still working on the rest. Isn't Mello nice? I risk my life to save these kids and the first thing that he does is insult me.

Geez, thanks, Mels. Love you too.

For reasons unknown, Linda was crying as she ran towards me. Veil and Hearth kept running, their own tears making tracks in their sooty faces. Veil's gasmask was tossed to the side as she hugged Olive. Lux reached for Twist and virtually ripped the four-year-old from my shoulder.

West would let go of my leg. The little guy's blond head was positively covered in ash. He was murmuring rapidly in German about how scared he was, how he never wanted to see fire again, and how he didn't want to be alone. How he never wanted to be alone again.

"Du bist nicht allein." I said. _You are not alone._

This seemed to be the right thing to say. The little guy – he was one of the youngest here – looked up at me, his green-blue eyes wide. Soot stained his barely there eyebrows brown and I could see the ash caught in his eyelashes. He smiled. I smiled back.

Another scream interrupted our little 'moment'. Gin yelled out for Newt. She seemed distraught. I was about to go back in for god knows what reason, when the little albino (He is AA again) tripped me. He looked at me, sprawled on the floor with a knowing gaze. Have I mentioned how much I hate it when AA stares at me?

Well, I hate it.

I blinked, twice actually.

When I started to get up again, glaring at AA viciously, I felt a foot on my back. I struggled, but it was expertly placed to restrict all movement. I turned my head, hate visible in my eyes. (Or, I thought that it was) Yellow blond hair, icy eyes with perfected glares, hand hands on hips.

Mello.

His lips twitched. "You are NOT going back in there."

AA nodded. Now that I think about it, this is the only time that I've seen them openly agree with the other and work together. He had something to say also. "Matt must not be rash. Fire is an unforgiving element that will not think of Matt as a friend."

"Sheep's right. That's not your friend. I'M your friend." Mello punctuated his declaration with a jab of his foot, "And as your friend I say that that's dangerous. You are a retard."

I ended up giving up and just watching with West as the actual responders showed up. The little boy didn't want to leave me.

He was curled up in my lap and all that, clutching at my very singed shirt, muttering small nothings in German. He told me bits about his family – an older brother who had run away from home with him when his mother died and their father became abusive. He just talked and talked and talked. It made me wonder when the last time someone listened to this little boy for more than a minute.

I felt selfish.

I could hear him just barely, but I wasn't really paying attention.

The image of a shattered blue bracelet, painted nails, and interwoven fingers kept flashing in front of my eyes.

I wanted to save them all. All of them. I was so close to getting Jack and Jill out, but I was too late. I failed.

They weren't able to find Phoebe, or Newt. Barnaby was in really bad shape. Brain damage, broken bones, third degree burns everywhere. It was terrible. Barnaby was mute, you know? He couldn't have called out even if he wanted to. His mom had tried to kill him by cutting his tongue out when he was three. It would've worked, but she was already on suicide watch so there was a responder on scene. He could never speak because of it.

Now, he probably wouldn't be able to walk or have is mind as a refuge.

I felt guilty.

If I'd gone back in, could I have stopped it? Would it have helped? Would I have gotten Barnaby out in time? Could I have found Newt and Phoebe? If…what if…?

L always said that what ifs dive a person to near insanity, but I can't help it. If I don't think about the what ifs, then I really will be what I fear…

…A failure…

…

 **This one took a darker turn…**

 **Sorry for the wait, guys! It's my finals week, my grandma is in town, my mom had surgery recently, and I'm getting certified to be a lifeguard. Lots of stuff, y'know?**

 **As always, I hope you enjoyed this! If you have an idea, don't hesitate to leave one for me in a review!**

 **Feedback is always welcomed, especially if it's on the two language sections. I might be wrong and I want to know if I'm wrong…so…**

 **Ciao!**


	16. Happiness

So…I don't really feel like I'm a failure.

Not anymore anyways.

I mean, I kinda do, but not really. Just enough for me to question why exactly I didn't go back into the fire or fight the AA and BB (Albino Asshole and Blondie Bastard…that would make me Crazy Cunt or something…heh…that's almost funny.)

Backup would find that hilarious, actually. The fact that I call Mello a version of his name when I'm mad at him. He might be proud, actually.

They are pretty similar in terms of temper, Beyond was just more…subtle, I guess is the right word. He was more of one to get two enemies with one blow that wouldn't implicate him. BB would be more likely to just punch the guy to a pulp and not give a damn about his consequences.

Anyways. Happiness.

It is true that happiness can come out of the strangest places. Just three days ago I was…not happy, but without that event, I would not be anywhere near as happy as I am now. You wanna know what was good about letting four kids die?

Five lived.

Five lived and one of them has been moved to my room because he won't go to sleep without me there. Yep. I'm talking about little West. He hadn't been here very long before the fire. Only…four months or something like that. He hasn't even learned much English yet.

That has become my task – teach the little tyke English before they set up the new class schedule. I'm not sure why something so simple as this has made me so happy. He's catching on pretty fast, to be honest, faster than I think I would have if I hadn't had a tri-lingual background. He can say simple sentences with present verbs and German mixed in.

He's taken quite a liking to English pronouns, I think.

West'll randomly say 'you' or 'I' instead of 'du' or 'ich' and get this really funny grin on his face when he does. It's adorable.

He tried to tell me his name yesterday. I told him that he can't cause it'll put him in danger. He protested a bit until I put a finger to his lips and shushed him with a smile. He is probably the cutest little guy in the world. Was this how I was at three?

If I was, then I was pretty damn endearing.

Anyways.

This blond kid is making one Matt a very happy camper – literally. We are in tents at the moment. Most of us are having to share. Me, AA, and BB don't HAVE to, but West refuses to sleep without me.

I feel needed.

Happy.

Again, I don't know what it is about the kid, or feeling needed, but it causes a stirring inside of me. Not in that gross way Dave, yuck! I meant that my heart feels light and that's something that I can't remember feeling for…actually, pretty much a decade. I know that that is like, a terrible thing to say when I haven't even lived two, but it is very, very true.

You know, in the strangest way possible.

As is benefitting Matt, of course.

Just a week ago, I would have told you that happiness is an illusion – something that we make for ourselves from our surroundings. That it is a conscious choice for you to work towards…now? I'd say that happiness is contagious.

West is utterly happy right now, and I'm the cause of it.

It's just…surreal.

Ah! I gotta go.

West started to mess with my computers. He is so bad with electronics that I would almost call him a walking EMP sometimes.

(I can laugh while writing, it works well.)

I gotta untangle him before he pulls something important…

Bye Dave!

 **...**

 **The reason you get a double update is a really nice review from XxKalypsoxX, thanks!**


	17. Insult, well, 'mat'

Hey, so you know, calling someone a 'mat' is generally a demeaning insult, right?

Normally, it is when directed at me. Usually with a certain degree of malice and the word 'door' prefacing it. Not the best pun-on-name around, eh?

The source of this topic is that BB (Mello version) was fishing for a name he hadn't used in a while and settled on 'doormat'. Suffice to say I wasn't too pleased. I was just trying to help out. Mello seems to be distraught that I 'Even thought to put yourself in danger!'

Idiot!

I can take care of myself!

Besides, calling someone a doormat is not the best way to express worry for their safety, you know that, right Blondie?

So, he said, basically, "Matt, I know exactly why they called you that. You're a doormat. You let people walk all over you. You're so gullible it's laughable." Here he laughed. "Doormat. That's all you really are. A true doormat does more than let people walk on them, they enjoy it, view it as their job even. You are worse than a reed in a hurricane."

…

…

I'm not as upset as I probably should be.

Sure, his words hurt – a lot – but it's nothing that can't roll off of my back if I try to let it. The part that really gets me is that he thought to say that. He keeps saying that I'm a friend, that I was a person to care for him when no one else did. Is that how people are supposed to treat their friends?

I sound like a very, very innocent little kid right now, but considering that Whammy's is all I've known since I was…West's age actually. Strange to think about.

All of my friendships have been tainted by this place.

You'd think that it would take more than a little insult to give me the correct ammunition to get into a reminiscing mood. Buuuuuuut, apparently that's all it takes.

Why do people even use insults anyways?

People need to remember that however true those words are; it is never sufficient reason to just…explode at someone.

I think I talked about how no one can cause you to feel something before, but this is probably the closest I've ever come to retracting that statement. There is just something about Mello and the way he talks to people that just inflicts more damage than usual.

Doormat…Am I really like that?

Do I just let myself be tossed this way and that?

Does it really matter…?

No.

No, it doesn't matter.

I can't let something simple like that get to me. Sure, I know the Bastard meant it. He probably meant it more than anything he's said so far to me over the past…seven years or something. It's just…not worth thinking about. All that comes from dwelling on insults is regret, shame, and self-loathing.

Considering that none of those feelings are very appealing to me, I'm just going to forget about Mello's little 'insult' and focus on why he even wanted to insult someone.

I think that Blondie wanted me to feel guilty about running into the fire.

Well, hate to break it to you, but I'm not guilty. I probably won't ever feel guilty about saving lives when you wouldn't do the same. It makes me wonder why he cares so much though. That's the extent of it.

All I want to think about is how the damned fire even started.

Cause…not many people know about Whammy's in the first place, and those that do don't think of the massive manor as anything other than Watari's massive house...Surly not a housing to genius orphans who have nowhere else to go. It's just strange…Why was the fire set? Who started it?

I think that I'll ask AA and BB for their opinions and do our collective best to keep L and Watari out of it. I mean, they probably already know, but the Kira case is difficult and L looked stressed last time I hacked.

Talked about a Light Yagami a lot, watched video surveillance and stuff.

Almost on the verge of obsessive if you ask me.

I'm going to do something subtle and manipulate Mello and get my revenge. Just because his little 'insult' didn't get under my skin much doesn't mean he is free from my wrath.,

As for Near…? Well, we all know he's going to be the eventual successor. I don't want to get on his bad side like Mello has been doing for years.

Besides.

Mello's more fun to mess with anyways.

Better reactions. Less barriers. Fewer boundaries. Larger heart.

…

…

…I just realized how vindictive I sounded…

…Maybe Beyond rubbed off on me more than I thought…

Either way! Mello's gonna be in for a tough ride that will prey on his low self-esteem AND answer my burning question!

Win win.

For me anyways, haha!


End file.
